At the foot of the staircase, he took one of the men who accompanied him, a navvy named Cassoute, the most wooden-headed of the four, and ordered him to sit on the first step, and remain there.
"You must come and inform me," he said to him, "if you see the scoundrel from upstairs return." The man sat down heavily.

When Macquart reached the pavement, he raised his eyes and observed Felicite leaning out of the window of the yellow-drawing room, watching the march past of the insurgents, as if it was nothing but a regiment passing through the town to the strains of its band.

This last sign of perfect composure irritated him to such a degree that he was almost tempted to go up again and throw the old woman into the street.

However, he followed the column, muttering in a hoarse voice: "Yes, yes, look at us passing.

We'll see whether you will station yourself at your balcony to-morrow." It was nearly eleven o'clock at night when the insurgents entered the town by the Porte de Rome.